Chapter Eleven
Slipping in a golden-oldies CD, she began to hum along with “Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” smiling at the irony of the song. She had been perfectly satisfied not to get satisfaction since her divorce. Life was simple without a man in it. Until Michael had shown up, that is.
What was it about him anyway? Oh, sure, he was sculpted like a Greek god, with muscles in all the right places and his rakish grin, longish hair, and dark, penetrating, bedroom-sexy eyes.
But Sophie hadn’t thought about bedrooms—other than for getting a sound night’s sleep—in a long time.
And she certainly wasn’t taken in by cover model good looks either.
Robert had those as well, and she knew how that turned out.
But…she couldn’t remember Robert ever making her skin tingle, with every nerve ending on edge, as it did when Michael merely brushed his fingers against her cheek.
Even just his closeness as they sat in his car, sensing his body heat and unique male scent was enough to bead her nipples.
And the fantasy dream they’d shared—she’d never had that strong a climax in her waking life, ever.
Sophie felt her face heat even more at that thought and rubbed at her eyes. They were beginning to burn. The ozone level must really be high today. She gave herself a little shake and focused on the traffic.
Yes, life had been so simple before Michael. No dragons flying through the sky or residing in her home. No media blitz. No mythical swords to find and no demons lurking out there to destroy the world.
Not that she believed in omens or superstitions, but she wondered now how coincidental that meeting had been at the Palo Pinto clinic when Michael had stopped in with the strange request to rescue a wolf that couldn’t be found.
She rubbed her eyes again as her vision began to blur. Had some sort of chemical been released into the air? Pulling out the CD, she turned on the radio. Blinking her eyes, she fiddled with the dials to find a news station.
A horn blared beside her. Too late, she looked up, realizing she had drifted into the next lane. She jerked the wheel to her right, over-correcting, and felt the truck spin out of control. Air-borne momentarily, it landed heavily on its side on the sloping shoulder of the road.
Dazed, Sophie lay there, wondering why everything around her was still reeling.
Vaguely, she heard brakes squealing to a stop and footsteps running towards her.
A swarthy-faced man with a patch over one eye appeared in the window.
He looked like a pirate, but the last thing her befuddled mind wondered about before darkness enveloped her was why he was dressed in a suit and tie.
****
Morgan watched as Allison put down the phone, a shocked expression on her face. “What is it?” she asked.
“That was Parkland Hospital. Sophie’s been in an accident.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
“Concussion. Broken leg. Pretty bad slash on her arm from broken glass.” Allison gathered her purse and car keys. “Thank God some good Samaritan stopped and put a tourniquet on it and waited until the ambulance came.”
“Do they say what happened?”
“Apparently she swerved lanes and over-corrected. No other car was involved. Cancel the rest of the appointments, will you? I’m going over there.”
“Of course.” Morgan waited until she heard Allison drive away and then went into the tiny kitchen and picked up the coffee mug Sophie had used earlier. She gave it a good sniff, satisfied that no trace of her special herbs lingered.
“Where did Allison go?” Janie asked from the doorway.
Morgan nearly dropped the cup. She’d forgotten the girl was still here. “Sophie was in a car accident.”
“Oh, no! How bad?”
Morgan related what she knew and Janie shook her head. “That is so odd. Sophie is an excellent driver. She doesn’t text or even use her cell phone when she’s on the road. Why would she get distracted enough to drift into another lane?”
“Who knows? Maybe it was just heavy traffic.” Morgan put the mug back on the shelf and busied herself cleaning the sink.
Had her herbs had anything to do with it?
She had meant for Sophie’s face to break out in blotches and a rash so Michael wouldn’t find her so god-damned attractive, but sometimes vision was affected.
She paused, her blood chilling. Adam very much wanted the bitch alive.
He’d told Morgan that. If he ever found out that Morgan might have anything to do with causing the accident—but then, why would he?
There was absolutely no reason for him to find out.
She forced herself to breathe in. She was safe.
“I guess I’d better call Michael,” Janie said.
Morgan whirled around. “Why would you call him?”
“He’ll want to know.”
“Why, exactly, do you think that?” Morgan asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Janie blinked. “He likes her. A lot.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “He’s simply trying to convince her to look for some ancient sword that the eccentric millionaire wants.”
“How do you know that?” Janie asked.
She could hardly explain to the girl that she had the office bugged. “She mentioned something about it the last time he was here.”
“Well, that’s a new one,” Janie said. “A guy asking a girl on a date to find a sword.” Then she giggled. “Unless it’s the sword inside his pants. Sophie fences, you know.” She giggled harder. “He sure calls here often enough to be interested in sparring with her, if you catch my jest.”
Morgan bit back a curse she was about to hurl at the girl.
No sense in wasting dark magic on the little idiot.
If Michael wanted to sheath his sword in anyone, Morgan could give him more than a quick parry!
She sniffed. Sophie Cameron hadn’t been able to hold on to a handsome hunk like Robert—probably because she was cold as a glacier in bed.
And she’d bet her modeling contract that Michael was a man who liked really hot women.
And Morgan liked building up steam in the bedroom.
She forced herself to smile at Janie. Sophie would be out of commission for a while, which would give Morgan time to work on Michael. She was just glad that Adam Baylor would never find out what she had done.
****
“My dear boy,” Mr. Smith said as Michael paced back and forth in the hospital room, “you’ll wear out the linoleum.”
Michael looked over at Sophie, pale-faced and comatose.
He had been sending healing white light into her body ever since they’d been admitted into the private room that Smith had ordered, but she had not responded.
He gently probed her mind again. Her shields were down, due to being unconscious, but all he could detect was a blank nothingness.
At least she was not reliving the accident in some nightmare-like state.
The nurse came in to check Sophie’s vitals again. Michael could discern nothing from the woman’s face as to whether the signs were good or bad, nor did her mind reveal anything other than routine professionalism.
“How is she?” he asked as the nurse adjusted the IV-drip and turned to go.
“She’s holding her own, Mr. McCain. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to check her signs again.”
“Shouldn’t she be waking up?”
‘Some patients take longer than others, with head trauma,” she answered. “The CAT-scan showed minimal swelling, so that’s good news. We just have to be patient.”
Michael resumed pacing again as she left.
As a warlock, he had honed his abilities to control himself totally.
Magic tinged with emotion was dangerous, yet now he wanted nothing more than to call on all the gods and offer any bargain for this woman to wake up and be all right.
He stopped practically in mid-step and stared at Sophie again. He loved her.
Persuading her to help him find the Sword was important.
Infinitely so. Balor could not be allowed its possession.
Michael’s raging lust for Sophie—his need to bury himself inside her and stay there—was unsurpassed by anything he had ever felt for a woman, but it paled in comparison to this newfound understanding.
That lust was built on a much stronger foundation.
Love. Caring. He wanted to protect her. He wanted her to be one with him.
The potency of his feelings shot through him like a lightning bolt.
And then the irony of the situation hit him.
In all his centuries of living, he had never experienced real love until now.
And a warlock would be the last person someone as practical and logical as Sophie would want to marry.
He was pretty sure she would much prefer to have him and his red dragon go away and leave her in peace.
That wasn’t going to happen. Not now.
Sophie stirred and a small moan escaped her lips. With preternatural speed, Michael was at her side. He didn’t care if Smith noticed how fast he moved or not.
“Sophie! Wake up,” he said as he took her hand, stroking his thumb across her palm. “Come back to the world of the living.”
He felt the static connection, sensed the purple light arching between them, even as she opened her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as she blinked her eyes, trying to focus on him.
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she said with a grimace.
Michael smiled. “You were run over by a truck. Sort of. Do you remember?”
Sophie closed her eyes and, for a moment, he thought he’d lost her again, but then she opened them and nodded slightly.
“I…I was driving to Dallas. My eyes itched and then blurred. I tried to avoid hitting another car.” She glanced down at her bandaged arm. “The truck left the road. The last thing I remember is that pirate man helping me.”
Michael exchanged a quick glance with Smith. Was she hallucinating? “Pirate man?” he asked.